


The Goddess Who Fell To Earth

by alcimines



Category: Superman - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 09:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19989967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcimines/pseuds/alcimines
Summary: Logan and Ororo end up in western Kansas, where they run into a local family.





	The Goddess Who Fell To Earth

THE GODDESS WHO FELL TO EARTH

Like all of its kind, the storm was a child of the warm south and the cold north. It spawned high above the border of Kansas and Oklahoma, and once the storm was fully formed, it stood over forty thousand feet tall and sprawled across hundreds of square miles.

The storm was born knowing that its life would be measured by only a few short hours. And so resentment, hatred, and aggression were built into its very nature. The storm was more powerful than any human weapon, but - fortunately - it really didn't know how to focus that power. So it would just have to settle for whatever scattered death and destruction it could manage during its brief existence.

As the storm angrily coiled furious winds around itself, it began stalking north and east, tearing at the earth below, and eagerly seeking for an even better means to wreak havoc.

Then the storm spawned monsters. All along the leading edge of the storm's front, dark and ominous funnel clouds began to twist and turn in an increasingly jubilant dance.

Warning sirens echoed across the prairie as tiny humans fled and hid. Howling winds stripped leaves from trees and crops from fields. White and yellow lightning split and flared, generating deafening peals of thunder. Raging against an end that would come all too soon, the storm continued its march across the Kansas plains, walking on a thousand strokes of lightning. And out-riding along the storm-front, the hounds of the storm - huge tornadoes - began their eager search for destruction.

* * *

"Ororo?" Logan said. He sounded worried.

Logan and Ororo were standing on the tarmac of a small county airport. They were in Kansas to investigate a particularly loud and angry anti-mutant group that was attracting a lot of media attention. Scott had decided that the situation was worrisome enough to warrant further investigation. For one thing, it would be good to know who was behind the suspiciously large amount of money that the group was throwing around. They were being funded by someone, but who?

That was the kind of task best accomplished by someone right in the center of the problem, asking questions as they looked people in the eyes. Of course, Scott knew that the people he'd have to send on that kind of mission would have to be more than capable of handling themselves if trouble arose.

Logan and Ororo were assigned the mission. When they took the job, they both agreed that they should keep a low profile. The blandly unexciting two-engine propeller plane they'd flown to Kansas was safely tucked into a hanger - this wasn't the kind of job that required a Blackbird.

Logan had just finished signing the last of the paperwork for the hanger rental when he noticed that Ororo seemed preoccupied. She was standing stock-still, facing west with her arms crossed over her breasts and her head tilted slightly to one side. There was a worried, distant, expression on her face and her eyes had turned pure white - a sign that she was using her weather powers.

Since he spent so much time looking into them, Logan knew Ororo's eyes. If the sky was clear and blue, so were Ororo's eyes. Once the sky became covered with clouds, her eyes greyed. And when she used her powers, they were solid white.

Logan squinted up at the sky. It was a beautiful spring day, with only a few scattered clouds off in the western horizon. Of course, Logan knew very well that in this part of the world, the weather could change very quickly.

Logan concentrated on the scents around him. Yes... off in the distance. Rain.

Ororo suddenly snapped out of her reverie. "I am sorry, Logan, but I have to go," she told him.

Logan suddenly became worried, "Dammit, 'Ro, don't..."

A strong gust of wind slapped Logan in the face, knocking his cowboy hat right off his head. Ororo was soaring off to the west, her arms spread wide as she flew. On the ground, people were shouting and pointing. This part of the world didn't often see people with super-powers.

Behind Ororo, Logan cursed loudly and then began sprinting for the tiny terminal. He had to find a vehicle. A fast vehicle.

"So much for our low profile," Logan growled to himself.

* * *

Martha had spent almost her entire life on a farm, and she knew the fury of sudden storms. Even before the radio began yammering about a tornado warning, she was in her pickup truck, driving a small herd of cattle into cover.

Rain turned two-track roads into mud as hail began pinging from Martha's truck. She hastily secured some loose equipment and then fled back to her home. The sky had become dark, and it looked even darker off to the west. Lightning revealed an oddly greenish cast to clouds. Off in the distance, she could hear a faint roaring.

After garaging her truck - she really hoped it would survive - Martha dashed for the storm cellar. Her heart was in her throat, but that wasn't for fear of her life. If the oncoming tornado was as bad as she suspected, then she might very lose her house, her out-buildings, and her farm-equipment. And she already had loans to pay.

Assuming she survived, there was a good chance that Martha she would lose everything.

No... that wasn't true. She would still have something more precious than any property. She would have her son.

Right after Martha threw open the storm cellar door, something seemed to change in the storm. Before diving down the stairs, Martha peered up. Was the storm actually lessening?

In a blaze of lightning, Martha thought she saw a tiny form in the sky high overhead.

"Clark?" Martha whispered to herself.

No. The silhouette was wrong.

It was a woman.

The roar of the approaching tornado was deafening. Martha knew she was out of time.

As she clattered down the stairs of the storm cellar, the very earth around Martha seemed to rumble and flinch.

* * *

The battle was brutal, but Ororo was the only thing between the advancing tornadoes and a scatter of prairie towns.

Ororo fought with all her might, turning the winds around her to avoid flying debris. Simultaneously, she stabilized the temperatures of the two atmospheric fronts that had birthed the storm and it's furious children.

She didn't stop the storm - that wasn't within even Ororo's power - but she did calm the storm's fury. The worst of the tornados decreased in intensity, becoming far less deadly as they shifted away from populated areas. Lesser tornados disintegrated into gusts of wind and sheets of rain and hail.

Exhausted and shaking, Ororo was barely able to control her descent to the prairie below. Then one last flying piece of wreckage intercepted her. She didn't see it in time.

So the goddess fell to earth.

* * *

Martha was a methodical woman and the inspection of her crops only ended when she got to the boundary of the westmost forty - the hardest to reach part of her property.

To her complete surprise, there wasn't as much damage as she'd feared. Once she was sure of that, Martha parked the truck and leaned back in her seat. A day's worth of tension finally began washing out of her.

"Thank God," she whispered to himself.

Then she wiped her eyes. There was no time for frailty. And she should make sure there wasn't any damage to the irrigation pump. She'd seen lightning strike the ground near it.

Getting out of her truck, Martha took a deep breath of air that smelled of rain, earth, and young corn. A warm rain was falling, and she momentarily raised her face skywards to allow it to wash over her. Then she began walking through the wide expanse of wet corn.

That was when she saw the woman.

Actually, Martha almost missed her. Ororo was lying just inside the edge of the cornfield, not far from where Martha's truck was parked. Fortunately, it was spring and the corn wasn't very tall, otherwise, she might not have seen Ororo at all. At first, Martha thought it might be a deer that had been killed by the storm. But then she took a closer look and realized that she was looking at a human being.

Martha sprinted towards the body. The ground was slick, but she managed to keep her footing.

Splashing to a halt next to Ororo, Martha immediately fell to her knees and checked Ororo's pulse. Then she blinked in surprise. Martha was looking at a black woman with white hair, but she clearly wasn't elderly. In fact, she was young and very pretty. She was barefoot and clad only in the tattered remnants of an expensive-looking skirt and blouse. Half of her body was covered in mud, but the other half had been washed clean by the rain. There were cuts and bruises all over her body and a particularly nasty gash over one eye. As she watched, Martha could see blood well out of the cut and then wash away in the rain.

With a grunt of effort - Martha had always been a strong woman, but she wasn't a youngster by any stretch of the imagination - she picked Ororo up and carried her to the truck. Laying her down in the truck bed, Martha crouched over her and used a bandanna to improvised a bandage over the cut in Ororo's forehead. Then she pulled a rag out of the cab of her truck and used it as best she could to clean the mud from Ororo's body.

* * *

Back at the house, Martha swept some sewing from the couch and put Ororo down on it. After that, Martha covered Ororo's legs and mid-section with a blanket. She tried calling county emergency services, but there was no reception. Probably the nearby towers were out.

Then Martha finally paused and carefully considered what was happening.

A strange woman who had suddenly appeared in one of her fields?

Perhaps she was the one she had seen in the sky? The woman imperiously defying the storm?

This might have something to do with Clark.

Martha looked thoughtfully at the woman on her couch. Then she went into the kitchen to retrieve the first-aid kit from its spot on top of the refrigerator.

* * *

The mud-splattered motorcycle pulled off to the side of a wet country road. An equally mud-splattered Logan idled the engine and checked his phone. It had all kinds of strange features that were well beyond the usual.

There was a signal that indicated Ororo's phone was somewhere nearby.

But all around Logan was nothing but wet and battered farm-fields, filled with spring crops. After a few minutes of searching, Logan turned up Ororo's phone. It had been damaged in a long fall, but it was sort-of functional. The Professor insisted that the X-Men have sturdy equipment.

Logan grunted and pocketed Ororo's phone.

Eyes closed, with his face lifted up to the sky, Logan took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.

Then he did it again.

He found the merest trace of Ororo's scent. It was enough. He had a direction.

With a satisfied grunt, Logan opened his eyes. Then he got back on his motorcycle, put the engine into gear, and roared back onto the road.

* * *

Ororo blinked awake.

"Ouch," she mumbled as she slowly sat up. Her head hurt. Actually, all of her hurt, but her head was the worst.

Painfully sitting on the edge of a strange bed, Ororo carefully poked at the bandage that had been wrapped around her head.

"The price of being careless," she whispered.

Still, she'd calmed the storm. Its angry spirit was now at rest. And hopefully at peace.

Ororo could tell she was in somebody's home. The bedroom was neatly tended and perhaps somewhat old-fashioned.

"Well, hello," a voice said.

Ororo looked towards the voice. A sturdy middle-aged woman, attractive in a mature way, had entered the room.

"My name's Martha," the woman said.

Ororo tried to smile. "I'm Ororo."

* * *

Clark walked into his mother's house. Martha was sitting at the kitchen table. And she had a guest.

"Clark!" Martha said with a big smile. Then she stood up and hugged her son.

"Clark, this is Ororo," Martha said.

Martha hesitated for a moment before going on. "Ororo dropped in on me."

Ororo had to hide her sudden smile behind her cup of coffee.

Then Martha glanced at Ororo. "This is Clark. He's my son."

Clark nodded and said. "Hello, ma'am."

Ororo unsteadily rose to her feet. She had a hand on the back of her chair and Clark could see that she was using it for stability. Even without the bandage around her head, it was obvious that Ororo was hurt.

Clark carefully looked at Ororo.

She had a blow to the head. Mild concussion. No cranial bleeding. She wasn't in any danger, but she needed rest.

Martha momentarily met her son's eyes. Clark's lack of reaction was all Martha needed. Martha finally relaxed.

"Hello, Clark," Ororo said politely, noting to herself that Clark really didn't look much like Martha.

Perhaps he took more after his father.

* * *

Logan braked to a halt in front of the farmhouse. He could tell Ororo was inside. And she was alive.

Logan wasn't much of a religious man, but he still found it in him to thank God.

Clark stepped out onto the porch and looked at their new visitor. Logan was stained with mud - motorcycling down country roads right after a storm was a messy task. And he was obviously worried.

"You must be Ororo's friend," Clark said to Logan.

Logan nodded abruptly, looking past Clark and inside the open door that Clark was blocking, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ororo.

Then both men froze.

They were looking at each other.

Really looking at each other.

Clark saw the metal on Logan's bones. The claws. The subtle chemical indicators of a man who was always in at least some kind of pain.

One sniff and Logan knew that Clark wasn't human, but he was pretty sure that Clark wasn't a mutant. Actually, Logan didn't know what the hell Clark was. However, he couldn't catch any scent of aggression or anger on the younger man. And Clark seemed very relaxed.

And very confident.

"I need to talk to Ororo," Logan said very flatly. Logan was trying not to be his usual self, but he simply had to see Ororo. He had to see her right now.

Clark nodded agreeably. "Sure, but take your boots off before you come inside."

Logan didn't hesitate. He mounted the porch, yanked his boots off, and then dropped them off to the side. Once he was done, he noticed that Clark's own boots were much cleaner.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, back into the farm-yard. There was a pickup, his motorcycle, and their tire tracks. Also, a woman's footprints were clustered around the truck and left a trail as they both exited and entered the house. The woman's entering prints were deeper - she'd been carrying something close to her own weight when she returned home.

The first prints from Clark's boots simply appeared right in front of the porch steps. Then they walked straight into the house.

The kid could fly, Logan noted.

But Logan didn't really care about that. He just needed to see Ororo.

Then Ororo came out onto the porch. Martha was next to her and had an arm around Ororo's waist.

"Logan," Ororo said with a smile that was both genuine and a little wan. "Sorry I left you. I hope you understand."

Logan let out a sigh of relief. "You scared me, 'Ro."

Ororo was hurt, but not badly hurt.

She was a tough lady, Logan knew that. She'd survive.

* * *

Martha insisted on cooking something for them. Ororo wanted to help, but was sternly told to lie down and rest.

Clark and Logan were smart enough to stay out of Martha's kitchen. Both men lingered over cups of coffee as they tried to figure each other out.

They weren't having much luck.

"You're a reporter?" Logan said curiously.

"At the 'Daily Planet'," Clark said.

Logan nodded. He was old-fashioned enough to buy newspapers, and he'd heard of the 'Daily Planet'. It was a well-known survivor of the twenty-first century's newspaper catastrophe. Logan suspected it was because the 'Planet' adhered to the old-fashioned idea that people would pay for honest and skilled journalism. The paper also kept a really good stable of reporters.

"Do you know Lois Lane?" Logan asked. He'd read more than a few of her articles.

Clark smiled. "We work together."

"She's pretty good," Logan said.

Clark laughed out loud. "You have no idea. Rumor has it she's in the running for another Pulitzer."

Logan paused. He could smell something on Clark. And then there were some really subtle aspects of his body language.

It looked like Clark had a thing for Lois. Logan found himself hoping that it would work out for Clark. At first glance, Clark looked mild-mannered and perhaps even soft. Logan didn't buy that for a split-second, but would Miss Lane?

"So what do you do for a living, Mr. Logan?" Clark asked.

It was on the tip of Logan's tongue to tell Clark to skip the 'Mr.' and just call him Logan. But then he shrugged it off. This was Kansas. People - particularly rural people - were courteous about age and Clark had figured out that Logan was older than him.

"I teach," Logan said.

It took some effort, but Clark managed to keep a straight face. "What do you teach?" he asked.

Fighting down an urge to say "Interpretive Dance", Logan decided to be more-or-less honest.

"Physical Education," Logan replied. Logan had long ago decided that "Physical Education" was a reasonable way to say "Hand-to-Hand Combat". For one thing, it was an answer that didn't startle regular people. Of course, Logan wasn't sure if that applied to Clark, since whatever Clark was, he was definitely not regular people.

"So you were born and raised here in Kansas?" Logan asked.

"Raised here. Born out of state," Clark answered. "Where are you from, Mr. Logan?"

"Canada. Saskatchewan."

"Beautiful country."

"You've been there?" Logan said in surprise.

"I've flown over it a few times."

* * *

Dinner was light, but excellent. Everyone meant it when they complimented the cook. Clark and Logan washed the dishes for Martha.

Clark had discovered that Logan seemed to know a lot about decades worth of rather dark special-forces operations. He was getting a spirited earful from Logan about what really went wrong at the Bay of Pigs. Oddly, Logan would every now and then describe events as if he'd actually been there.

Martha smiled at Ororo. "They're hitting it off."

Ororo gave Logan's back a long look. "That is surprising. Logan does not make friends easily."

"Oh?" Martha said idly. "Does he have a girlfriend?"

Ororo made a wry face. "Women are magnetically attracted to him."

Martha sipped her coffee, trying to hide the amusement she was feeling. "He seemed really worried about you."

Ororo hastily changed the subject by glancing at a framed picture of Martha, a very young Clark, and a tall man with light brown hair and a broad smile.

"Your husband?" Ororo asked.

"Jonathon. He passed two years ago."

"Oh... I am so sorry, Martha..."

Martha held up a hand. "He's returned home, Ororo. I'll see him again someday."

Ororo nodded. Then she winced.

"Try not to move your head, dear," Martha added almost absently.

"Yes, ma'am," Ororo replied as she painfully rubbed the sides of her neck.

"So you and Logan aren't..." Martha said, letting the rest of the question hang.

That made Ororo smile. "No. I am sure he is not interested."

Martha nodded. "There's a phrase in the Bible, Ororo. You've probably heard it: 'there are none so blind as those who will not see.' And in my experience, even the bravest men are terrible about admitting how they feel."

* * *

Just before sundown, a man wearing an outlandish pair of sunglasses showed up. He was driving a vehicle that looked something like a small Humvee.

Logan went out to talk to the man driving the odd truck. Then they began arguing about something.

Martha glanced out the window at the two squabbling men. "What's that about?" she asked Ororo.

"Goddess knows," Ororo sighed. "Perhaps the color of the sky. Or maybe gas mileage."

A clearly amused Clark was looking in the direction of the fight. The fact there was a wall in the way didn't seem to bother him.

"Actually, Logan thinks Scott - that's his name, right? - took too long to get here. Logan's saying that when he calls for a blanking medical blanking evac he blanking wants it right blanking now, not a blanking half blanking day later. Scott is telling Logan that he blanking reported a blanking code three blanking emergency and Scott blanking treated it as just like blanking that."

Then Clark paused for a moment.

"Logan just told Scott to go blank himself."

"Those two don't get along?" Martha asked Ororo.

Ororo gave Martha a long look. "Actually, they would die for each other. It is one of those oddly complex male relationships."

Martha raised her eyebrows as a particular loud string of curses became audible. "But are they always like that?"

"Only when they talk."

* * *

Logan stopped just outside the front door. He obviously didn't want to get mud on Martha's floor.

"Ma'am," Logan said very seriously to Martha. "I'd like to apologize for my friend's rude outburst."

Martha blinked. Ororo covered her eyes with her hands.

"Just go along with it," Ororo told Martha. "They are a bit insane around each other."

Martha nodded slowly.

* * *

Clark helped Ororo to the front door. Ororo noted that Clark was a rather strong and solid man for such an unobtrusive-looking person.

Well... being raised on a farm didn't usually result in softness.

Out on the porch, Logan picked Ororo up in his arms. Despite the difference in their sizes, Logan didn't seem to have a problem doing that.

"Ororo," Martha called out.

Logan politely pivoted slightly so Ororo could see Martha.

"Remember: there are none so blind," Martha told Ororo.

Obviously not sure what Martha was talking about, Logan frowned.

Her eyes on Martha, Ororo considered what the older woman had said. Then she nodded.

Ororo calmly molded her body against Logan's. Her forehead was against the side of Logan's face, the side of one of her breasts against his chest, and the fingers of one hand curled around the back of Logan's neck.

For a long second, Logan just stood frozen. Then he looked down into Ororo's face. The hand he had around Ororo's shoulder squeezed gently...

"Are you two coming or not!" Scott yelled from out in the farmyard.

The look that appeared on Logan's face was shocking in its lethality.

"Logan... let it go," Ororo ordered quietly. Her eyes were peacefully closed. She seemed quite comfortable in Logan's arms.

* * *

Logan carefully put Ororo into Scott's vehicle. Then Scott and Ororo talked for a few seconds. Scott carefully checked the bandage on Ororo's head.

Clark and Martha were on the porch. As Scott's vehicle pulled away, Ororo waved cheerfully at them. They both waved back.

The truck drove out of the yard. Logan watched it for a second, seemingly lost in thought. Then he mounted his motorcycle. After nodding at Clark and Martha, he took off down the road.

"Nice people," Clark told his mother. Then he glanced around the property. There were repairs he had to get done. He should be able to finish them quickly enough.

"Yes, they were," Martha said. "I'd like to see them again, but... well..."

Martha paused before continuing. Clark waited patiently.

"It's like we're from different worlds," she finished thoughtfully.


End file.
